Basanta Lohani

A designated driver is the king of steering, If not, the kingmaker He steers the car The companions inside rely on him, He chats with all, being focused No hocus-pocus He reaches them to destination

Her efforts to move fade pale She becomes still, the starving little girl. The vulture scans and swoops down But the vulture cannot claw to make its feast The starving little girl is alive She's still, but still breathing The vulture waits behind her.

A little girl was very pretty. So pretty that grandfather addressed her as 'My little princess' She was fond of wearing nice dresses. On a party day, she would carefully choose her dress for the occasion as soon as she got up in the morning.

The newborn gets flooded So cries to survive on the lap of mother But laps no language However, no wild cry As mother listens to console

Thank you, Mohan Da A sustained feeling you extended In the interconnected fleeting moments The togetherness forms the transience we call life It has no beginning nor end

Right or wrong?

Straight I tell you my friends I am angry now My anger could spit fire Like a volcano To chase away the grave centered vultures Hovering over my land

Your humility holds me spellbound Simplicity grips me further Having just come out from a closed door arena Filled with intellectual fumes

Nature smiled Her contours appeared blissful Grandeur and bountiful She allures me Into a meditative state

I allowed him to misuse me Because of my much wider wings of friendship He thought it was my reliance on his inherited intellectuality Can intellectuality be inherited?